


Memories of You

by just_another_classic



Series: Roses in December [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Babies, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 01:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: When Killian arrives in New York to find Emma Swan with her memories of fairytales and Storybrooke intact, he doesn't realize his life is about to change forever -- that is, until Emma introduces him to his daughter. (Roses in December companion piece)





	Memories of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katie_Dub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_Dub/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Katie! I have been so blessed to have gotten to know you over the course of being in fandom together. You are an exceptional woman: smart, funny, caring, and talented. So, of course, you got me to do something I never thought I'd do: write a companion to Roses in December from Killian's POV. I do so hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> As for people not Katie, this aligns with the second chapter of RiD where Killian meets Wendy.

He tells her not a day goes by when he won’t think of her, and by the gods, he means it. 

Killian’s thoughts are drawn to her like a moth to a flame. All-consuming. Dangerous. Whenever he sees a flash of blonde hair, for a second Killian believes it is her. Red will forever be associated with visions of her jacket and the flush of her cheeks. She invades his dreams. She’s a siren, one he would easily submit himself to his doom just to be closer to her.

He can’t be. Damn the curses. Damn the barriers between the worlds.

He plays the precious few memories he has with her in his head. Beanstalks and jungles, her lips moving against his own and fingers questing under clothes. “ _ One-time thing, _ ” that’s what she’d told him the first time, the second time. He has to believe it means something, the repetition of broken vows. She kissed him once, and then again, and she drove away with a whisper of  _ “Good,”  _ and Killian’s world has felt off-kilter since. 

(Lies. It’s been off-kilter ever since she pulled him from the pile of bodies. He just hadn’t realized it then.)

She has no memory of him. He can’t get her out of his head, but he’s nothing to her. All of the people she loves, those he ran away from the moment he could, are nothing to her. Probably for the best, because Killian knows all too well the pain of being separated from loved ones (loved one, because he accepts now that he might actually love her), and wouldn’t wish that torment on her. Yes, it’s better she not remember him or her parents when there’s no hope of ever reuniting. 

But then there’s a message and a curse he’s able to outrun, and a magic bean he’s able to barter for, and Killian Jones finds himself in a foreign land standing outside the door of the woman her loves. And when he knocks and she opens the door, he’s blown away not just by her beauty -- gods, she’s beautiful -- but also by the whisper of his name on her lips and the realization that Emma Swan remembers.

For the first time in a year, Killian Jones allows himself to hope.

 

-/-

 

Hope is a funny thing. It’s uplifting and tormenting all at once. It drives him mad, and he spends far more time pacing in the overcrowded streets than he ought too, earning disgruntled stares and more than a few swears. She had told him to leave and return in a few hours time, and the seconds agonizingly tick by, not nearly fast enough. So he waits and wanders the streets and most of all, he wonders. 

She remembers him! There’s a small part of him that wishes that perhaps she might feel the same as him, but the larger part of him wonders just how and why her memories returned. Killian doubts that Regina could ever botch a spell this terribly -- she’s far too powerful of a sorceress to do so -- but perhaps the emotions of having to wish farewell to her boy had been too much. There’s also the possibility that’s Emma’s Savior destiny could somehow have shined through, shattering any alterations to her memory. Regardless, he’ll find out soon enough. 

(There’s a part of that guiltily wishes that he could have been the one to bring her memories with his kiss, they ‘what-might-have-beens’ niggling in the back of his mind. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.)

He arrives back to Emma’s door promptly with his heart beating wildly in his chest, eager to once again see her, their earlier conversation far too brief for his liking. When she beckons him into her home, he notes how she’s changed from her sleeping garments and into clothing fitting the day-to-day fashions of this realm. Of course, she wears her red jacket. Killian longs to reach out and pull her into his arms, one and two-time things be damned, but he doesn’t wish to scare her off. He’s a bit unsure of where he stands with her, not knowing just what their kiss and later tryst in Neverland might mean. 

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice the babe at first, her soft coos eventually drawing his attention. She’s small, her dark hair mostly obscured by a large sunflower banded around her head. Confusion momentarily overtakes him, and Killian wracks his mind for why this child might be here.

“I know it’s been a year, but you hardly strike me as nursemaid, Swan.”

And then, for the second time since their meeting, Emma turns his world on its head, drastically altering whatever path his life might have otherwise taken. 

“I’m not. I’m her mother. Killian, meet Wendy, our daughter.”

 

-/-

 

“You named her after the bloody Darling girl?”

This shouldn’t be the first thing he says in relation to his child, but --

\--he’s gasping for words and air both. He feels as if he’s drowning and --

Emma places Wendy in his arms, and he’s holding his daughter for the first time.

 

-/-

 

It doesn’t take long for Wendy to begin crying, arms flailing as she reaches for her mother. His gut drops at this, tightening when Emma extricates their daughter from his arms. 

“Sorry. She’s a bit of a Momma’s girl. She’s not big on strangers yet,” Emma tells him, and his expression must give his emotions away because she suddenly looks at him with something akin to pity reflected in her eyes. “You’re new. She’ll get used to you the more you’re around.”

Killian nods, his felicity for words lost as he studies the infant in Emma’s arms. She calms quickly, blinking away the large tears and she snuggles into Emma’s chest. He feels utterly useless, guilt and resentment threatening to overwhelm his already fraying composure. Though he had no way of knowing of her existence -- only days had passed between his and Emma’s tryst and the curse overtaking them -- Killian can’t help but feel as if he abandoned both his daughter and her mother. Had he an inlinking that Emma was here, that she was carrying their child, he would have moved heaven and earth to be by their side. 

Instead, he tried his best to drink himself to oblivion. 

He wonders now if he’s not actually better than his own father at any rate. What would Liam say about this now? Likely something about how he should have been more careful with cock, recognizing the possibility of leaving Emma pregnant when they came together in Neverland. And perhaps he ought to have been, but that doesn’t matter now. Wendy is here. She exists.

And he missed the first few months of her life. 

 

-/-

 

They spend quite some time talking about Wendy. He rolls her name around on his tongue, familiarizing himself with what is surely becoming one of the most important names in his life. Five letters, two syllables. He wonders, if he’d been present for her birth, if they would have chosen that name. He doubts it, and something about the way Emma stumbles over the explanation for selecting the name leads him to believe she wouldn’t have selected it if she’d had her memories either. 

“I think, in a way, choosing her name was sort of my subconscious remembering you,” she tells him. Killian’s heart swells at her confession. The knowledge of their shared child only makes him love her more. “Like, I sort of remembered making her,” Killian delights in the way her cheeks color red, “but nothing about you exactly. Just that you were some hot guy.” 

She shrugs noncommittally, and he can’t help but leer, “Hot, Swan?”

Her response is accompanied by a spectacular eye-roll, and for a moment, it feels as if they’ve never been separated. “Please. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re good looking. How many times have I heard you refer to yourself as ‘devilishly handsome’?”

“I only speak the truth, love.”

“And the truth has nothing to do with your ego,” she replies, but the corner of her mouth quirks upward. 

Whatever quip he had brewing dies when he hears a squeal from the bundle in Emma’s arms. Wendy makes herself known, a stark reminder to Killian for how much has actually changed since Emma crossed the town line and he was swept away in a cloud of purple smoke.

“She likes to be the center of attention,” Emma says, her expression softening as she turns her attention to their daughter. Her eyes briefly flick up to him, and she looks almost impish as she tells him, “she takes after you there.”

“You wound me,” Killian tells her, even if he means the exact opposite.

 

-/-

 

“The first thing I did when they passed her to me was kiss her, and whoosh, everything came flooding back. Her birthday is the Fourth of July, by the way.”

There’s something in Emma’s tone that indicates the importance of the date that extends beyond his daughter’s birth, but he pays it no mind. He knows he should focus on Emma recounting how her memories returned -- True Love’s Kiss, of course -- but he’s too busy counting down the months. 

Where was he four months ago?  
  
His last year was essentially one miserable night after another miserable night, each one blending together. He had the Jolly then, this much he knows. There’s a pang in his heart when he thinks of his ship, but it’s a worthy trade for Emma and their child.

Isn’t it?

 

-/-

 

Wendy once again ends up in his arms. She is half asleep when Emma passes her over, and then completely in the land of Nod by the time her mother returns from the lavatory. Emma returns to her spot opposite him on the sofa, but makes no move to take Wendy back.

“She’s pretty cute when she’s asleep.”

“Aye.” He studies the curve of Wendy’s nose, the swell of her cheeks, and the wisps of dark hair. 

“Though you should see her when it’s two a.m. and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Total monster.”

“I don’t know about that, Swan, if I fancy you when you’re yelling at me, I’m sure I will do the same with this little lass.” He flashes Emma his best roguish smile, causing her to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound.

Killian realizes that this is what he fantasized during the year he was parted from Emma. It’s more than that, more than he ever allowed himself to hope for, really. The woman he loves is sitting a few mere feet away from him, watching him with joy in her eyes as their daughter sleeps in his arms. For a brief moment, Killian wonders if he’s dreaming. 

And, of course, this is when it all comes tumbling down.

 

-/-

 

Eventually, Emma asks about her family, about the year that has come and gone. Wendy has since been moved to a small swing, and Killian finds himself sitting across from Emma, a glass of rum in his hand. He eyes the amber liquid, recalling the lonely nights when he tried to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. It never worked, _of_ course it wouldn’t, not when his heart was here. 

But now they’re together, now she’s imploring him to hear about life in the Enchanted Forest. His gaze drifts to Wendy, and shame courses through his veins as he begins to recount what little he knows about her parents, and why he doesn’t know more.

“—and frankly I was bored. I had a life to get back to. A pirate’s life.”

Killian doesn’t expect what she says next, and perhaps if he’d been present, if he had spent more time around parents and their babes, he might have expected it. But since he wasn’t and he did not, Emma’s words cut deep.

“Here’s the thing, you can’t do that anymore. You can’t just leave because you are bored. You have to decide now if you want to be here for her, okay? Because you just can’t just walk away when she’s not interesting you, or boring you, or – babies aren’t always the most interesting things, you know?” Emma wipes at her tears. “They just lay there, or cry, or poop, and you can’t hold a conversation with them. You’re gonna get bored, and no matter how bored you are, you don’t leave them. You just can’t.”

Killian knows he ought to understand. An objective part of him recognizes that Emma’s instincts to protect her child, the one she’s raised on her own for the past few months. But -- he’s Wendy’s father, as well. 

“Do you truly think so little of me that you believe I would abandon my own child because I grew bored?” He hates the way his voice breaks, wishing he’d sounded more confident. He might be a pirate, but he’s more than that.  And he thought that, perhaps, Emma would have seen that. 

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

“Wha – no – that’s not…”

“I left your parents and everyone from that bloody town because there was nothing left there for me anymore,” he tells her. Pain is replaced by anger. That comes naturally to him. Anger is easier. Safer. Anger got him through Liam’s death, Milah’s death. It can, at the very least, get him through this. “As long as I have a breath in my body, Emma, no level of boredom or threat could ever force or tempt me to abandon my child.”

They say nothing more after that.

 

-/-

 

It is Wendy’s cry that breaks the tension. 

He watches as Emma feeds her. 

“Not how you expected to see my boobs, huh?” she asks him, breaking the earlier tension. He recognizes what she’s doing. The physical has always been easier than the emotional with them. Sometimes he wishes it were the opposite, but if it was that way with them, they wouldn’t have Wendy. Besides, this way has her talking to him. They aren't fighting. 

So Killian plays along. “Not as such, no. Though from my vantage, they appear larger.”  
  
Emma shakes her head, but she’s smiling. 

 

-/-

 

The rest of the night is spent in a delicate balance. Much of their attention is focused on Wendy, who is far too young to notice any attention between her parents. Killian finds himself immensely thankful that Henry decided to spend the night with a friend. Even without his memories, Killian knows the twelve-year-old is a perceptive child and would recognize something amiss. 

There’s a brittleness between him and Emma now that there wasn’t before, a kind that wasn’t present when he waltzed into her home and not even when she placed Wendy into his arms that first time. He’s thankful for the distraction that Wendy provides, her squeals and cries providing a welcome balm to his raw heart. 

He tries not to dwell on Emma’s earlier accusation that he would abandon their child. He’s not his father. He wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- abandon his child. He’s only known of Wendy’s existence for a few hours, and he’s already thinking of ways to realign his life around her. 

Assuming Emma allows it. He’s no fool. He knows she holds all of the cards in whatever future relationship he has with Wendy. He’s comforted by the fact that whatever doubt she has with him at the moment, she’s not keeping his daughter from him. Not that he believes she would do so. Emma is magnanimous when it comes to her children. In the past, regardless of her feelings toward Regina, they kept things civil for Henry. Surely things would be the same with them and Wendy.

But there’s a part of him -- his heart, what’s left of his broken, blackened heart -- that is shattering because he’d been hoping Emma saw him as a better man, one worthy of her own heart and the honor of being Wendy’s father. But she doesn’t think too highly of him if she’d accuse him of growing bored of their -- _his_ \-- child. 

In short, he hurts. But he masks that pain behind his laughter.

For Wendy’s sake.

 

-/-

 

He learns about this realm as much as he learns about Wendy:

The toys here are mechanical and loud, creating tinny noises and flashing rainbow lights. 

There’s a delicacy called “Chinese” that one eats with utensils called chopsticks. 

Photographs of people can be printed. He notes the ones hanging on the wall -- Emma and Henry in a forest, a heavily-pregnant Emma by a window, and one of Wendy swaddled in the blanket.

He thinks the photographs are his favorite development. 

 

-/-

 

“I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay.”

Killian nods. It’s not as if he can tell her what to do, one way or another. Not that he has any disputes, other than fear of being alone with the babe, who is now soundly sleeping in her crib. Killian watches as Emma stands in the doorframe of her bedroom. She’s watching him just as warily, and in her hands is a leatherbound book -- a journal perhaps. 

“If you want something to do, you can read,” she tells him, thrusting the journal in her hands outwards. “Once I got my memories back, I began to write down a bunch of stuff about life and Wendy, just in case the curse broke.”

She continues to hold the journal, biting her lip as her expression implores him to take it. Killian reaches out, struck by both the vulnerability of the moment and Emma’s thoughtfulness. He recognizes this moment as an olive branch and takes it.

 

-/-

 

_ It’s been a week since we tried to go to Storybrooke, only to find nothing. Am I an idiot for thinking that my memories returning would mean the town would as well? Henry said he overheard his friend’s mother say that I was “bonkers” for going on a road trip immediately after being released from the hospital, so maybe I’m just crazy.  _

_ Henry still has no sign of his memories returning. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad thing yet. At least he doesn’t have to miss everyone. I have no idea what to tell Wendy about all of this yet. I tell her stories and stuff, because what else is there to do from 1-4 am? But I have zero clue about what to do when she’s older. _

_ “Hey, kid, your dad is Captain Hook and your grandparents are Snow White and Prince Charming. Disney got it all wrong!” _

_ God, I don’t even know what to tell her period. It’s not like you -- and by you I mean, YOU Hook, because no one else should be reading this, so if you are stop -- chose to leave. It’s not exactly how things went down with Neal. _

_ I’m not going to lie -- sometimes I wish TLK never worked.  _

 

-/-

 

_ Wendy doesn’t fucking sleep. I’m blaming this on you. _

 

-/-

 

_ Fun fact: 70s funk puts Wendy to sleep. WTF.  _

 

_ -/- _

 

_ \-- at least she can’t talk yet, which means she can’t ask questions. I don’t understand why people have to pry into our lives.  _ _ They look at her with pity and me with pity. I don’t want that for her. I can deal with the stares but -- _

 

_ -/- _

 

_ Wendy got her shots today. She took them like a champ until she got home. Then screaming. So much screaming. Henry stayed the night at Avery’s. I envy his ability to escape. _

 

_ (I really, really like our kid, but it’s a lot, okay?) _

 

-/-

 

_ Henry wants to be a pirate for Halloween, and he wants Wendy to be his parrot. Said we could be a pirate family. Sometimes I wonder if he’s faking having his memories. At any rate, I can only picture the bitch fit you’d throw if I dressed Wendy up as a parrot, so I’ve hunted down a pretty damn adorable baby pirate outfit. I’m pretty sure you’d replace Smee as your first mate if you saw her. She’s that cute.  _

 

-/-

 

He’s too ensconced in the journal to notice that Emma had finished bathing. She shocks him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I missed so much.”

“You’re here now. That’s what counts.”

Another olive branch. He thinks it’s her way of saying sorry.

  
-/-

 

“Part of me had given up hope of my parents ever getting to meet Wendy. Assuming Storybrooke is, you know, actually there this time.”

“It should be. I know there was a curse.” He doesn’t mention anything about them not remembering her. Killian knows Emma has contemplated the possibility. 

“They’re going to freak,” Emma says. “We get split up and there’s no baby, and when they see their daughter again -- surprise, here’s a baby!”

“Once the initial shock settles, I’m sure they’ll love her,” Killian assures her. They don’t discuss how the prince and princess might react to learning of his role in Wendy’s life. Killian assumes it won’t be favorable. In the past, Charming had made his disdain clear. 

Regardless of what might be coming for him -- a well-placed right hook, perhaps -- Killian can’t help but feel slightly envious that Emma will have the opportunity to introduce Wendy to her family. How he wishes that he could have the opportunity to present Wendy to his brother, show that the Jones line would continue and prove that despite all the horror he’s wrought over the years, that Killian could still do something right. 

“What are you thinking?”

Knowing there is no reason to lie, he says,“I’m thinking about Liam, and how I wish he could meet her.” 

“I wish he could too.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “And me. I wish I could have gotten to meet him.”

Killian cracks a small grin. “Aye. Though I imagine he’d be cuffing me behind the ears for leaving you in such a condition.”

Emma raises a brow, and then schools her face into something more devious. “It is bad form to knock up a princess, I suppose.”

He’s not familiar with the terminology, but he can deduce its meaning well enough. “Something like that. Although, if he wasn’t lecturing me about bad form, he’d be questioning the child’s paternity, because there is no way he’d believe a lass as lovely as yourself would invite me into her bed.”

He means it as a joke, a way to lighten the mood, but something in Emma’s expression changes. “You don’t have to question anything. Wendy, I mean. I didn’t -- there’s absolutely no way -- “   


“Swan, I promise I--”

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to doubt you’re her dad, okay? I haven’t been with anyone else around or since...us.”

“Believe me when I say I hadn’t any doubts. Please.” He tries not to read too much into her statement. He fails, which is why he shares a confession of his own. “And, just so you’re aware, that makes two of us.”

“What does?”

“The celibacy.” The words sound so clinical in his head, even as his cheeks flush. Once upon a time, he might have blushed such an admission. “I haven’t been with anyone since our encounter either.”

“Really?” The dubiousness in Emma’s tone is obvious. “Why? I at least had a pregnancy and baby to contend with.”

He shrugs. “My interests lay elsewhere.”

_ Here. With you.  _

He expects her to pull away under the weight of his confession. Instead, she kisses him. 

 

-/-

 

Their coupling is unlike the first.

Neverland had been quick and impersonal, Emma’s back against a tree and his hook digging into the bark above her head. They had  _ fucked _ , plain and simple. He hadn’t even completely removed his pants.    
  
What they’re doing now can’t quite be described as making love -- he doubts that Emma would allow that at this juncture in their relationship -- but it’s softer. They’re both mostly unclothed this time, save for his brace. The day’s toll already has him feel raw and overexposed, and he’s not quite certain he could bear to witness her reaction to his scars. Besides, Emma doesn’t seem to mind. 

She kisses him with as much fervor as she did in Neverland. Her sighs are still the same, but her touch is more certain as runs her hands over his heated skin. She allows him to cover her, and he relishes in the feel of her naked flesh against his own, the press of her breasts against his chest, and the drag of his cock inside her.   
  
He’d dreamed of this, fantasized about her body and touch in the loneliness of his cabin. He’d turn over his memories of their time in Neverland, concoct scenarios where she’d be there in his bed. In this moment, he wants to laugh at how little his fantasies and memories compared to the real thing. 

She comes first, but it a close thing. He follows shortly after, her name mouth into the slope of her neck. After, he half-believes she’ll kick him from the bed. If this day has taught him anything, it’s that his expectations are worthless, because she surprises him yet again by curling onto him and resting her hand against his chest.

“Thank you.”

 

-/-

 

Killian doesn’t sleep, can’t sleep. He’s exhausted, both emotionally and physically, but he finds himself laying in Emma’s bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. He wraps his stunted arm around her waist and relishes the warmth of her body against his. 

It’s everything he ever wanted. 

Doubt curls around his heart. He knows what transpired between them likely doesn’t mean what he wishes it to. Like in Neverland, he reckons that this was the easiest way for her to deal with the maelstrom of emotions his arrival wrought. That knowledge, however, doesn’t prevent him from hoping that maybe it’s a sign things could develop further for him, that she may someday see him as a man of honor, someone with whom she could both raise a child and grow their lives together. 

But Killian knows if he pushes too far, he might drive her away, losing not just Emma but Wendy. That’s a risk he’s not willing to take. 

 

-/-

 

Just as soon as he begins to drift to sleep, he hears a wail. It’s still soft, and it takes Killian a moment to recognize it as Wendy. He considers waking Emma. She knows their daughter better than anyone, but his desire to prove himself as a father wins out. He slowly extricates himself from the bed in an effort to not disturb Emma, and fishes around the floor for his trousers before quietly ambling toward his crying daughter.

“Hello, little love.”

She whines in greeting, and for a moment he panics, unsure of what to do. So he picks her up. It’s awkward, at first, with his truncated arm, but he manages. The jostling movements upset Wendy, however, and she lets out a louder yowl. 

“Shhh, darling, don’t cry. I’m here. You don’t want to wake your Mum, do you?” He practices the bouncing motion Emma had done earlier in the day. Recalling Emma’s explanation about strangers, he says in a soft voice, “Papa’s got you. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me.”

He continues to ramble on, feeling somewhat foolish because he doesn’t even know what’s vexing her. For all he knows, she could be hungry, rendering him completely useless. He doesn’t even have a bloody clue what 70s funk even is to use it as a soothing method. Wracking his mind for something -- anything -- he remembers a lullaby his mother would croon. 

“Would you like a song? I can sing to you.” 

He begins to sing just as his mother did, and something miraculous happens -- she quietens.

 

-/-

 

In the dark of the night with Wendy quiet in his arms, Killian allows himself to ponder what sort of life he wants for Wendy. It is now that he finds himself longing for Jolly, wishing desperately that he could introduce her to the sea the way he lived it. He knows she’ll grow up in the realm -- foreign as it is to him, he can’t deny the benefits in utilities will make most aspects of day-to-day life easier. Although, as he stands gazing out the window to the expanse of the city, a selfish part of him wishes that she’ll be raised somewhere quieter and less industrial.

“Hook?” He turns to see Emma walking toward him. She’s wearing naught but his shirt, but he’s focused on the panic in her eyes as she approaches him. “Everything okay?”

“Aye. She’s asleep.” Killian can’t help the underlying pride behind his words. He managed to put his daughter to sleep -- alone! He tilts his head toward the window. “You can’t see the stars here.”

“No, you can’t.”

He glances down at Wendy, now asleep in his arms. He’s only known her for a day, and he already wants to give her the world. “She should see the stars.”   
  


-/-

 

“So what now?” 

“That’s up to you, love.” They’re once again in Emma’s bed, laying on their sides and facing one another. He wants to reach out to touch her, but refrains. 

Emma rolls onto her back and huffs. “It’s really not.”

“I thought you wanted to see your parents.”

“I do -- God, you have no idea how much I do…” Killian remembers her entries in the journal and his heart constricts. “...I just wish I knew what we were getting into. There was a curse, right? So they might not even remember me or anything. So we’ll have to come up with covers. And if there’s a curse, that means someone cursed them, and I’m really not fond of taking my kids into danger when there’s a villain running around town, and I have no fucking clue who he or she actually is.”

He hadn’t considered that part. The thought of sending Wendy into danger is not a pleasant one, but he knows Emma can’t run away and hide. Not with what’s at stake. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe. I swear it.”

He once said he’d risk his life for two things -- love and revenge. He meant it then and he means it now. 

“I know you will.” She once again rolls to face him. Emma surprises him then, moving to rest her head on his chest. He stiffens, but then goes to wrap his arms around him. “I’m glad you’re here, Killian.”

“Me, as well.”   
  
And, once again, Killian allows himself to hope.    
  
  



End file.
